Greeks Bearing Gifts
by Lokifan
Summary: Angelus/William. “William was the golden Ganymede to his Zeus: a muscular ideal of young manhood, and Angelus’ precious toy.” Warnings: D/s, bloodplay, worship


Angelus opened the front door of the London house they'd taken over. It hadn't yet started to smell from the corpses piled in the cellar. He was pumped full of blood: he'd drunk two humans tonight, sucking their lives from torn veins, and now he was hard and intoxicated and ready to fuck. "William!" he bellowed. If Darla was here, she'd surely reprimand him: but she was out charming beggars with Drusilla, and he was free to shout for his boy all he chose.

After a few moments with no reply, he bellowed William's name again and headed for the stairs. Generally William came to him within moments of his yells, dancing attendance on him. It had been six weeks since Drusilla brought back William, the way she brought back small, furry animals that she found in alleys. William seemed just as helpless, but much less inclined to be wary of predators; Angelus considered this a marvellous combination.

He still thought of their relationship as something pure. His idealistic view of Drusilla was ridiculous enough: but Angelus knew what Romantics thought about madness and innocence and nodded along to William's inane, lovestruck ramblings, watching his throat move as he spoke. But the way William thought of his relationship with Angelus – a relationship in the finest Greek tradition, Platonic friendship with Angelus teaching him the ways of the world – well. It was ludicrous, and Angelus would enjoy the day when he tore into William and showed him the true import of the sire-fledgling relationship; that he could do as he liked with William, and would.

But for now, Angelus loved the way William looked at him, admiring blue eyes full of a younger brother's hero-worship. He loved the way those blue eyes were so easily devastated by disapproval; William felt Angelus' censure like the turning away of God. And after all, being his sire was like being his god: Angelus had created him, brought him into this world.

Ah, yes: it was like being a god, like being a _king_ of the gods, who'd brought a human up to their level, so he too could play with human lives. William was the golden Ganymede to his Zeus: a muscular ideal of young manhood, and Angelus' precious toy.

He laughed drunkenly at his own thoughts. He'd never be so sentimental if he weren't riding so high: beer, and far too much blood. His veins felt stretched with it, his cock straining to release. Angelus stamped up the wide stairs, leaving mud smeared over the brocade carpet – Darla would be furious, but he was too dizzy with blood to care – and swaggered to the door of William's bedroom.

William, a six-week-old fledgling, was still too young to be allowed out hunting by himself; and Angelus had refused to take him this evening, and the ladies were off doing incomprehensible female things that men should have no part in. William had been left, sulking and hungry, in his room: and all for the glory of this moment, when Angelus shoved open the door and saw him standing bare-legged in his nightshirt, coming to Angelus with hungry, pleading blue eyes, asking for sustenance.

Angelus was a benevolent god. He drew William to him, and kissed him – arms wrapped tightly enough round him that he knew he was hurting him, and had the pleasure of feeling William wriggle hopelessly in his embrace. Still, William liked it: Angelus smiled into the kiss at the sense memory of the times William had worshipped on his knees.

_William kissing him, all over, his plush mouth reddened by harsh kisses and blood, his lips anointing Angelus' skin, his face fervent and almost shining, like a boy overawed by Bible stories. He worked his way over Angelus' muscular shoulders, his chest, the columns of his thighs: the touches were adoring, and made him groan. William's kisses grew harder, more frenzied, lips parting as they met his skin: then he seemed to recall himself, pulling back. He wouldn't push Angelus, wouldn't show less than the greatest respect._

_Angelus didn't push him, either: only gave him a hard look. William knelt before his god. He looked nervous for a moment: still unused to this, still unsure. Then he shut his eyes and went to it, suckling so hungrily on Angelus' cock: sucking like he was starving for it, cheeks swollen and lips reddened with cock. Angelus groaned, long and low; William opened his eyes, his bright blue gaze adoring and pleading for approval, asking if he was doing it right –_

_Angelus came._

At the memories, Angelus felt his game face slip to the fore: his fangs bit into William's soft lips, blood spurting to meet Angelus' eager lips. He laughed low in his throat, and William whimpered as he bit down harder, chasing the intoxicating taste of his childe's blood.

But he was too full to want much of it; he pulled back, stroking William's hair and smiling with the taste of William's blood on his lips. "You're hungry, then? Do you wish to feed off me?"

"Oh yes," William breathed, his voice hoarse with arousal. He was game-faced himself now, yellow eyes glazed. His plush pink lips, made for bruising, were even more appealing swollen and bleeding. "Yes please."

Angelus drew him with him as he moved to sit in the fat, patriarchal velvet armchair he'd brought into William's bedroom; William followed him easily, as if they were dancing. Angelus sat with his legs spread, and drew William to perch on one heavy thigh; he did so, despite the flush of embarrassment in his cheeks. It was soon overcome by another sort of flush, as Angelus cuddled him close; his sweet boy, so hungry and eager for what Angelus could provide.

Angelus drew him close, and kissed him again. It was marvellous, feeling William open his mouth so sweetly to allow Angelus entrance: dominion. Even better was taking his enjoyment from this body, while William waited, not daring to ask again but so desperate for blood. Angelus ran his left hand through William's soft, golden-brown hair; ran another down the strong planes of his back to squeeze the ripe little arse perched on his knee.

Finally, then, he drew back, and tipped his head back. William pounced with a cry, sinking his teeth into Angelus' bared throat. It hurt – fledglings had no finesse – but Angelus tolerated it, his left hand now clenched in William's hair, tugging warningly if he got overeager. It was a rush, to feel a vampire bite; and Angelus had more than enough to spare. He moaned through his fangs; William's voice returned the sound.

Angelus reached between them, and took a firm hold of William's cock. It was straining, the kisses from his sire and the feeding doing their work. Angelus gave a rough chuckle, hoarse with his own desire, and worked William's cock while he fed. William sucked still faster, knowing the old proviso: when he came, he'd be pulled from Angelus' neck and have to wait until tomorrow.

But even knowing that, Angelus' skilled touch brought mewling cries and the jerking of his hips; he shuddered helplessly in Angelus' arms, and came apart with a muffled cry that vibrated against Angelus' skin as he gulped down the blood –

Because after all, blood is life; and it was Angelus who gave that, now.


End file.
